


Study Aids

by silver_etoile



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Library Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 08:26:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15481689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_etoile/pseuds/silver_etoile
Summary: Stiles never thought this would actually happen. He’s been watching—not stalking—Derek for weeks, watching him sort through books, scribble things in his notebooks, look bored when talking to students asking for information. He’s never seen Derek shove anyone up against the shelf and suck a mark into their neck like he’s doing right now.





	Study Aids

There’s a corner in the library, deep and dark, hidden behind rows and rows of dusty books that no student has probably looked at in years. Take a left at mathematics, all the way down the row of philosophy and take a turn into the row piled high with encyclopedias.

There’s only one reason people come to this corner of the library, and it’s not to relive a 90s version of college.

*

It’s not stalking, Stiles tells himself firmly, sitting at his table in the library, pretending to be engrossed in his art history textbook, pretending not to notice the guy sitting behind the reference desk, sorting books. It’s not stalking because Stiles only sees him in the library.

Not that Stiles comes to the library _because_ of the hot guy, hot library guy—Derek, actually. He has a little name tag that Stiles spent entirely too much time trying to get a glimpse of without actually talking to him.

But there are a million Dereks in the world, and probably hundreds of Dereks at Berkeley alone, so it’s not stalking because Stiles has no way to find him on Facebook or Instagram (and yes, he did look).

Derek’s the kind of guy Stiles has dreamt of, tall, rough-looking like he shouldn’t be sorting books in a college library, like he should be out running in the woods, building fires and chopping wood. And fit, arms the size of trees, like he could just crush Stiles if he wanted to. And _oh_ , Stiles wants him to.

Stiles licks his lips as he gazes across the library to the help desk where Derek is now perched in his chair, scrolling through his phone, looking bored. Even bored, he’s gorgeous, cool blue eyes and the dark shadow across his jaw that makes Stiles think of how it would feel against his skin, rough and hot.

“Are you ever gonna talk to him?”

Stiles jerks out of reverie. Right, Scott is there, shooting Stiles an unimpressed look like he knows exactly what Stiles has been thinking about.

“Why would I do that?” Stiles asks because he can’t talk to Derek. He wouldn’t be able to get two sentences out without sounding completely idiotic.

“So you’ll stop making that face, and I’ll get to stop seeing it.”

Stiles was _not_ making a face, certainly not at Derek, not where Derek could see it anyway, the unbridled lust over some guy he doesn’t even know.

“Talking would just ruin it,” Stiles says, forcing himself to look at his book and not at the way Derek scratches his scruff.

Scott wrinkles his eyebrows. “So you’d rather just imagine sex instead of actually having it?”

That isn’t it. Stiles isn’t even sure Derek is into guys, and he’s been in enough awkward straight-guy situations to be wary of hitting on random strangers. And if Derek isn’t into guys, at least Stiles will have his fantasy Derek who shoves him up against the book cart and fucks him so hard he sees stars. 

He prefers to hold onto his fantasy rather than ruin it with the truth.

“I have sex,” Stiles says instead of trying to explain his train of thought. Scott would just say his reasoning was stupid, and maybe it is, but Stiles enjoys the Derek in his head.

“Not with Derek,” Scott replies, shutting his book as Stiles frowns, trying to come up with an argument, but he doesn’t have one. “Or with anyone if you don’t ever talk to them.” Scott packs his books away while Stiles glances over to where Derek is talking to someone at the desk, a girl who’s twirling her hair around her finger and leaning entirely too far over the desk. Derek isn’t leaning forward, not really smiling at her. “I have class. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, vaguely, watching Derek instead of Scott, the way Derek actually leans back, away from the girl, and she seems to finally get her answer and leaves the desk.

Derek’s eyes flick away from the girl’s back, to Stiles, and Stiles’ heart jumps, a momentary flash of panic as he looks away quickly, down to his notebook.

Derek looked at him. Derek, with his piercing blue eyes, looked at Stiles.

Taking a fortifying breath, Stiles chances a glance up, but Derek’s attention is back on his phone, not looking at Stiles. Maybe he just imagined it. Maybe he’s spent so much time in the last few weeks fantasizing about Derek cornering him in some dark row that he’s imagining all of this.

Shit. Scott is right.

Okay. Stiles is gonna do it. He’s going to talk to Derek, about… something. Anything. Just say words.

Getting up, Stiles leaves his table, feeling less confident than he hopes he looks. Talking to hot guys is not exactly his strong suit.

At the desk, Derek doesn’t look up, typing something into his phone, and Stiles stands there awkwardly for a minute, his brain running through the hundreds of things he could say, but all he can come up with is, “Uh, hi.”

Smooth, totally smooth.

Derek’s eyes flick up from his phone, and Stiles can swear his heart contracts. Jesus, he’s even more beautiful up close. Stiles mind is immediately filled with the sounds of panted breath, a flush rising on his skin, and he opens his mouth but no words come out.

Derek’s eyebrow rises slightly when Stiles just stand there. “You need something?”

_You to fuck me_ , Stiles thinks, blinking quickly. He doesn’t say that. He shouldn’t say that. He’s not sure what it is about Derek that just makes him think of knocking shelves, books tumbling to the ground around them, Derek’s strong fingers digging into his hips. Normally, he has a little bit more control on his hormones. He’s not sixteen anymore, but four years doesn’t seem to have made a difference in maturity where Derek is concerned.

He scrambles to think of something to say that isn’t a blatant come-on. “Uh, yeah, I’m writing a paper for my art history class and I need some books.”

Derek pauses, setting his phone aside. “What kind of books?”

“Art history books?” Stiles says, grimacing to himself. “Do you know where they are?”

God, he’s terrible at this. Derek looks so good in his gray henley t-shirt, the buttons undone at the collar, reveal dark hair underneath. Stiles just wants to get his hands underneath it, all over Derek’s muscles, wants to lick his way down his chest.

For a second, Derek doesn’t say anything, leaning back in his chair, cool gaze on Stiles as Stiles tries not to look like an idiot underclassmen. Derek is clearly a grad student. He’s at least a few years older than Stiles, plus all the books on the desk that aren’t library books are from advanced level classes.

“I’ll show you,” Derek says finally, rising from the chair, and Stiles quickly hides his surprise, his eagerness that he gets to follow Derek into the stacks.

It’s a nice view, Stiles admits to himself, even if Derek does turn out to be straight, even if all his fantasies are just that, fantasies.

Normally, Stiles is pretty good at hitting on people, mostly because he does it without knowing, but with Derek, he’s super aware of every word coming out of his mouth.

Derek leads him past row after row, not saying a word to Stiles. They don’t pass many people, probably because it’s a Monday afternoon.

Stiles actually does know where the art history books are. He’s spent a lot of time in that section already this semester, but he lets Derek lead the way, keeping up with his swift stride, and he wants to ask something, something not library related, like if Derek would be interested in a blow job between here and the books filled with Michelangelo’s paintings.

They take a turn and Stiles pauses, glancing around. This isn’t the usual way he takes, but he’s not going to stop Derek as they turn again and now they’re passing philosophy books, names like Plato and Nietzsche jumping out as they go.

“Uh,” Stiles say as they turn again into a row that appears to be a dead-end, thick encyclopedias dusty on the shelves, as if they haven’t been touched in decades. 

Derek turns to Stiles, his expression still unreadable. “Not what you’re looking for?”

Stiles isn’t sure what that means, and his can feel his own heart beating as Derek takes a step forward.

Is he imagining this? Is this just his overactive imagination coming up with impossible scenarios, like Derek looming into his space, the scent of fir trees on his clothes, like he rolls around outside, and Stiles breathes it in like it’s a scent he’s been missing his whole life.

“What’s your name?” Derek asks, watching Stiles swallow slowly.

“Stiles,” Stiles says because this can’t be real. Derek can’t actually be this close to him, Stiles’ back almost against the row of heavy books.

Derek’s mouth quirks, almost a smile, as if he knows something Stiles doesn’t. “You know where the art history books are, Stiles,” he says. “I’ve seen you in here.”

Stiles doesn’t even care that Derek caught him in his lie. He’s more distracted by the idea that Derek has noticed him. A little spark of confidence grows in him at that. Derek has seen him. Derek has noticed him. Derek is standing entirely too close for a straight guy.

“Yeah,” Stiles says at length. “And I know we’re nowhere near them.”

Derek doesn’t seem surprised at Stiles’ response, crossing his arms like a barrier and eyeing Stiles, like he’s thinking something.

Stiles is thinking something too. He’s wondering if Derek’s wearing boxers or briefs under those jeans of his, and how much work it’ll be to find out.

There’s a book behind Derek, a short, thick book that stands out from the rest. There’s no dust on this one, a shiny streak on the shelf from where it’s been pulled out recently.

All of a sudden, Stiles knows what this place is, this dark corner hidden from the rest of the library, a dead-end row filled with outdated reference books, and he raises his eyes to Derek.

Derek uncrosses his arms, meeting Stiles’ gaze, like he knows Stiles gets it, took a minute too long to understand what they’re doing there.

It takes Stiles one step, just a second longer than it takes him to decide to move, hands around the back of Derek’s neck, dragging him down to his level, and their mouths connect in what has to be a culmination of every fantasy Stiles has ever had of Derek.

Except it’s better than every fantasy Stiles has ever had about Derek. It’s Derek’s hands on his thighs, gripping him tight, hauling him up so their mouths can press together, the kiss hard and messy, tongues sliding together as Stiles’ fingers tighten over Derek’s neck, as he bites down on Derek’s bottom lip, just fucking wanting _more_.

Stiles’ back hits the shelf, a dangerous wobble behind him. Derek’s hands keep him up, strong enough to keep Stiles from slipping down, and Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, chasing his mouth, chasing the slick slide of their lips, the heat rushing down to his dick, leaving his head light, Derek’s dizzying kisses drawing out a breathless moan from Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t know what he imagined anymore because this is far better. This is Derek’s tongue in his mouth, the rough scrape of his stubble against Stiles’ skin making his cock jump, getting harder by the second, hips pressed to Derek’s stomach, the places were Derek’s hands press into the backs of his thighs hot, tingling.

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles manages to say, hand tangling in Derek’s hair as he tries to practically melt into him, to get as close as possible, to feel Derek against him everywhere.

Derek is so much wider than Stiles, solid muscle against him, skin hot to the touch, and he even moves a little when Stiles lets his fingers graze down his neck, a little twitch, not quite a shiver.

Stiles hooks his legs around Derek’s back, leveraging himself higher so he can lick into Derek’s mouth, can mouth along his jaw, let his imagination run wild of all the things they could do.

Fuck, he wants Derek’s shirt off now. Everything is too hot and not hot enough, blood pounding in his cock, a flush rising along his collarbone as Derek’s mouth grazes his neck, sucking just under his jaw, and Stiles closes his eyes, tilting his head back.

He never thought this would actually happen. He’s been watching—not stalking—Derek for weeks, watching him sort through books, text people on his phone, scribble things in his notebooks, look bored when talking to students asking for information. He’s never seen Derek shove anyone up against the shelf and suck a mark into their neck like he’s doing right now.

If Stiles isn’t careful, he’s going to come just like this, pressed against Derek’s hard body, Derek’s mouth hot against his skin, Derek’s hands gripping him tight.

But Stiles doesn’t want that. Fuck, he wants so much more.

“What’s behind the book?” Stiles pants, pulling Derek’s mouth to his before he can answer, chasing his tongue, needing the rough scrape of Derek’s stubble against his lips, a shiver running down his spine as he thinks that this is actually happening. He’s actually making out with Derek in a dark aisle of the library. He’s actually halfway to getting fucked by Derek, to getting his hands under Derek’s shirt.

“Book?” Derek asks when Stiles lets him breathe, lips red and shiny.

“Book.” Stiles nods behind Derek, sliding to his feet as Derek turns to look. Derek’s hands leave Stiles, and Stiles wants to protest, but Derek is pulling out the book, the one without any dust. It’s nothing special, but Derek reaches behind it, coming back with a box of condoms.

For a second, Derek stares at the box and then he laughs, just once. “Usually I’m the one chasing people out of this row.”

Stiles steps towards Derek, feeling bold, confident now that he’s had Derek’s mouth on his, felt Derek’s interest against his thigh. “We could change that.”

Derek glances up, and his eyes are a shade darker, or maybe his pupils are just wider, deeper as he meets Stiles’ gaze and his mouth curls. His fingers dig in the box and he comes up with a condom. Excitement courses through Stiles, hot and tingling as Derek puts the box back in its hiding place, pausing before his hand comes back with a bottle of lube.

“Someone’s prepared,” he mutters, but Stiles doesn’t care about whoever left that here. He just cares that Derek knows what to do with it. He’s pretty sure Derek will if the way he’s looking at Stiles is any indication.

It happens in a flash, Stiles’ back to the shelf again, his hands under Derek’s shirt, finally sliding over the expanse of muscles on his back, sliding to his waist. Stiles gets distracted by Derek’s hands pulling his jeans open, Derek’s tongue sliding into his ear, teeth tugging on his earlobe.

Stiles is aware, somewhere in the back of his mind, that they’re still in the library and it’s broad daylight outside. There is a chance that someone could walk by, could hear the way Stiles bites back his moan as Derek gets his jeans undone and shoves his hand against him, wraps around his dick and slides down, too slow when all Stiles can think about is Derek inside him.

It makes everything heightened, the chance that they could get caught, that someone might see the way Stiles yanks Derek’s hips forward by the waist of his pants, slipping the button apart, sliding the zipper down too fast. 

Boxer-briefs. He’d been wrong on both counts.

“Fuck me,” Stiles whispers into Derek’s neck, drawing Derek in closer so he can feel every inch of heat from his body, fingers scraping down Derek’s stomach, arching into him as Derek’s hand slips around his lower back and tightens against his skin.

Stiles isn’t always this bold with guys, but something about Derek does it to him, demanding, wanting more. He isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to get enough of Derek’s body, of Derek’s soft, plush lips against his, of Derek’s fingers grazing over his collar bone, like he’s trying to trace the shape, to remember it.

Stiles hears the crinkle of the condom wrapper, the pop of the lube top. A thrill jolts through his stomach as he glances down, between their bodies, at Derek’s dick, exposed, hard and thick. Better than he imagined.

His body is ready, ready for Derek to slip in a finger, then another, slick with lube. His breath is hot against Derek’s skin, his moan muffled by Derek’s shoulder, and he can hear Derek’s breath in his ear, not quite controlled, not quite steady.

Derek doesn’t speak, pulling Stiles up, off the floor, and Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, hands tight on his shoulders as he feels Derek’s prick against him, hot, hard, heavy, slick as he pushes inside, doesn’t even hesitate, doesn’t even wait for Stiles to catch his breath, to bite his lip and make a helpless noise, forehead pressed to Derek’s.

_Jesus_ , Stiles thinks, his body tightening with every thrust of Derek inside him, everything a rush of heat, sweat beading on his skin, a layer on his neck that Derek licks off and Stiles definitely did not think this through.

He didn’t think through the overwhelming pleasure he would feel with Derek pressing inside him, Derek holding him up as if he weighs almost nothing, the inability to form coherent thoughts as Derek fucks him, sharp and fast, like they don’t have time to slow down, and they probably don’t. Derek’s supposed to be working. Stiles is supposed to be studying. Neither of them are supposed to be panting together as their bodies move and Stiles’ cock strains against Derek’s stomach, not getting nearly enough friction.

“You want to come?” Derek asks, and Stiles nearly comes just at that, at Derek’s voice growling in his ear, fingers tight on the backs of his thighs, the slight burn in his ass, the ripple of heat when Derek hits just that right spot.

“Yes, yes,” he gasps, burying his face in Derek’s neck, nuzzling into the short, rough hairs, pressing a kiss to Derek’s throat, reaching for his own dick, jerking off as Derek’s hips thrust up, short and hard.

“Then come,” Derek says, blunt, harsh, ducking to capture Stiles’ mouth in a kiss that leaves Stiles dizzy, fingers fumbling over his own cock, moving too fast, too hard, and he comes before he can slow down and make it last, comes on Derek’s stomach, on Derek’s shirt, panting into Derek’s mouth.

“Oh, God,” Stiles breathes against Derek’s lips, his hand gripping the back of Derek’s neck, mussing his hair, his whole body hot as he concentrates on the feeling of Derek inside him, Derek pushing into him, faster now, like he needs to get off too.

Stiles almost can’t believe it, that Derek wants this too, that Derek’s eyes are closed as he concentrates on breathing. Stiles moves with Derek as much as he can with Derek holding him up, pressing him against the shelf. He rides Derek, the feeling rippling through his body as Derek groans and his hips jerk.

Slipping down, Stiles’ legs feel a little like jelly as Derek releases him, his whole body relaxed and wobbly as he slumps back against the books. He smiles to himself as he realizes what just happened, that he just got fucked by Derek, possibly the hottest guy he’s ever seen in real life.

“That was…” he says, not really having an end to his thought, except that it had been fucking amazing.

Derek zips up his jeans and doesn’t reply for a minute. It only takes those few seconds for Stiles’ brain to kick in, to wonder if maybe Derek is rethinking what they’ve just done. It isn’t as if they know each other. Derek’s just a stranger, a really good-looking stranger that Stiles definitely wants to do this with again. A lot. And maybe even get coffee sometime or spend a whole Saturday lying in bed.

Wow, that went super far super fast, Stiles thinks when Derek smooths down his hair.

“I should get back to work,” Derek says finally, and Stiles feels a touch of disappointment, zipping himself back up, his stomach dropping a notch.

“Hey, wait,” Stiles says as Derek turns. Derek noticed him. Derek saw _him_. 

Derek pauses, glancing back at Stiles, unreadable again.

“I can’t stalk you properly without your full name,” Stiles says, stepping up to Derek.

Derek stares at him for a moment before his mouth twitches. “Give me your phone.”

Stiles hands it over without question, watching Derek pull up facebook and type in ‘Derek Hale.’ A whole list of them pops up and Derek picks out one with ease, one with only a picture of a wolf and nothing public on the profile, pressing the ‘add friend’ button and handing it back to Stiles.

“I like to keep my private life private,” he says.

Stiles smiles, his heart beating faster again. “We’ll see about that.”

Derek doesn’t reply, but Stiles swears he sees a smile, just a tiny one as Derek turns from him and heads back to the front.

Stiles gives him a head start, sighing as he leans back against the books. Scott is never going to believe him, but he sure as hell is going to hear about it. 

As Stiles smiles to himself, his phone pings with a notification. Lifting it, his smile widens as he reads the message.

_You’re now connected to Derek Hale. Send him a message!_

Oh, Stiles will send him a message alright, and he bites back his grin as he pulls up the messenger and sighs into the silence of the stacks.

*

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> You're not really in a fandom until you write a coffeeshop AU or library sex, right?
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://believenthlie.tumblr.com/)


End file.
